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Shane gasped as he shot up from his comfortable spot against Ilya’s chest. It’s dark outside the windows of his bedroom. Unable to sleep, he estimated it was sometime after midnight. Shane tried to fall asleep for hours, but he couldn't stop the thoughts that kept swirling in his head.
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For hours, he laid awake wondering how he’d missed such a significant part of Ilya’s life. There was a deep ache in his chest thinking about everything he and Ilya had talked about during their stay at the cottage. It fills him with warmth that Ilya trusts him so much that he would tell him about his homelife, about his mother, yet his heart aches for him. Aches for all he has gone through, how alone he must have felt, how he told Shane all of this after almost a decade of knowing each other.
A decade.
Almost 10 years of… whatever it is they had, and Ilya barely telling him anything about himself. Always pushing Shane away and deflecting his questions when he got too close. Shane had been none the wiser, not bothering to push in fear he would end up pushing Ilya away. What an idiot he was, assuming his mother had passed of an illness like his father. Assuming that Ilya was too young to remember her.
He had spent the night thinking over everything he was told and spiraling internally while Ilya slept peacefully under him. Thoughts of what it must have been like to find your mom dead at 13 —Shane doesn't even want to imagine finding his mom dead now, let alone that young— due to suicide. He imagined how Ilya might have felt betrayed and abandoned. That thought alone caused anxiety to grasp his heart.
The memory of Ilya calling after him as he climbed off his lap, scared by that feeling in his chest he would later come to understand was love, echoed in his head. How abandoned he must of felt. How alone he must have been.
It was a domino effect after that, all of the interactions he and Ilya had ever had played in his head. Shane couldn’t stop analyzing every conversation, every argument, every interaction they had.
He thought of Ilya asking him to stay while they were in Boston… and how he had run away. Ilya calling after him as he climbed off his lap, scared by that feeling in his chest he would later come to understand was love. How he left Ilya alone after he asked Shane to stay.
He thought of the Olympics and how disconnected Ilya seemed, how he brushed off Shane’s attempts of being there for him and how Shane had let him. He just went back to his seat and left him alone.
He thought of Vegas, how they argued, how Ilya had tried to show himself to Shane, and how he left without looking back. At the time, he had thought that Ilya was mad about losing Rookie of the Year. Ilya had stood at the edge of the railing, smoking of course, and he had said—
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Ilya jerked awake, startled by Shane suddenly bolting upright in bed.
“Shane?” Ilya mumbled, eyes heavy with sleep and clearly confused.
“Vegas,” Shane said, stressed, hunched over with his hands rubbing his face.
Ilya looked around sleepily. He turned over onto his side and clicked a lamp on, squinting as the room was painted in a soft glow. He rested on his elbow and rubbed his eye as he struggled to keep up with Shane's thought process.
“It is so early, what about Vegas?” he murmured
“In Vegas, I won Rookie of the Year and I thought you were mad that I finally won something over you.” Shane said, removing his hands from his face. He looked at Ilya for the first time since he had turned on the light. He was struck by how soft and sleep rumpled he looked. Ilya was shirtless and his hair was only slightly disheveled from Shane laying on his chest. His eyes were barely open as he tried to blink sleep away. He blinked a few times in succession, trying to process what Shane said, and he was hit with intense fondness for the other despite the sorrow swimming in his stomach.
“Hollander, that was so long ago.” he said confused, “was not mad, I did not want to go back home.”
Shane nodded and shifted hastily, turning to face Ilya.
“Yes but before that,” Shane said, eyes big as if that would make the answer obvious.
“Before that?” Ilya said, stretching and sitting up to match Shane's height. His eyes were finally open all the way although he was still clearly drowsy.
He hesitated, “I… insinuated something to you and I realize now how insensitive it must have been.” Shane looked at his hands he was fiddling with in his lap, mentally kicking himself.
Ily’s confusion was obvious by his furrowed brow as he wracked his brain trying to remember what he could have possibly said to Ilya that would cause him this much anguish.
“You were leaning against the railing, smoking, I found you up there by chance and it seemed like you were sulking” he explained.
“Ah, no.” Ilya protested, “Russians do not sulk, Shane.”
If it were any other time, Shane would make sure to let him know that he was better at sulking than any Canadian he’s ever met, but he did not feel up to joking.
Not about this.
“Fuck off Rozanoff, I’m serious,” Shane said, giving Ilya a dirty look full of furrowed brows and a small frown. “I saw you against the railing, looking down and obviously having a rough day and I…” he trailed off.
Ilya’s eyes flickered once, a slight recollection maybe, and nodded for Shane to continue.
“I saw you there, by that railing and I said ‘I don’t know if it’s worth jumping over’” he said, unable to meet Ilya’s eyes.
“I don't know if it’s worth jumping over,” Shane had said.
Ilya had paused and looked him over.
“Party all done?” he had responded, deflecting, turning the conversation onto Shane as to not share too much of himself.
At the time, Shane didn’t question the way he shifted on his feet or how he fiddled with his cigarette.
But now he knew.
Over the decade they had been secretly meeting each other, Shane had observed Ilya’s moods desperately hoping to finally understand his seemingly unpredictable moods. He noticed when he was on top of the moon, like after he won the MVP award, and how talkative (maybe a bit boastful) he was. He noticed how the light shined in his eyes.
Shane also noticed when that light would dull, disappearing almost completely. It used to baffle him how Ilya’s playing got unrefined, like he was too tired to pick up his feet and go after the puck. Like there was no need to put effort into a game they both loved.
He noticed that on those days, after their…escapades, how Ilya would skip a shower even though Shane knows how he prefers it over just wiping himself down after sex. He noticed how he would put on his clothes lethargically, be less chatty, less witty. And sometimes he would stare out the window. His gaze empty, completely devoid of anything.
And he wouldn't look at the views.
He would always look down. Like he was calculating how far the ground was from their hotel window.
Noticing these things, he didn’t know how to file them away. He didn’t know what he was seeing, until now. Until Ilya told him about his mom.
Then it clicked.
“Ilya… I am so sorry,” he practically whispered. He couldn’t look at the other, too ashamed and embarrassed by his younger self and his willingness to joke about something so important.
“Hey,” Ilya said softly. He placed his hand under Shane’s chin, trying to get him to meet his eyes but Shane shook him off.
“Don’t say it's okay, it's not okay,” he shook his head. “I never should have said something like that.”
Ilya shook his head, looking around as if the walls could help him with an answer but came up with nothing. He clenched his jaw and sighed.
“No, is not okay,” he agreed. Shane looked up so fast Ilya wondered if he had gotten whiplash. “Maybe not okay, but it is forgivable.”
Shane opened his mouth to speak but Ilya cut him off.
“You didn’t know Shane, there was no way you could have known about my mother” Ilya, looked down, not meeting his gaze. Ashamed of himself for being so easily read. He hoped Shane couldn’t see what he tried so hard to cover up, hoped that he only thought the joke would bother him because of his mother, not because of… himself.
“That doesn’t excuse it!” Shane objected, causing Ilya’s eyes to find Shane’s once more. Shane ran a hand through his hair.
“I never want to make light of something so serious. What if all of this, us,” he gestured between them, “comes to light and we can’t handle it. What if you do get to that point and I joked about it in front of you? What if you took a joke like that too seriously? There’s no excuse for it!”
Ilya could see that he was spiraling, putting more weight into this conversation they had 8 years ago than Ilya had. He had been distraught to go home but not…
Ilya reached out and grabbed his hand, rubbing his thumb along his knuckles soothingly, the same way his mother had soothed him when he was younger.
He nodded his head “Da, is true but,” he shrugged and brought Shane's hand up to his lips, kissing it gently, hoping to slow the ever racing thoughts in his lover's mind, “I never resented you for it.”
“But with your mom…” Shane started.
“You didn’t know,” he stressed, brushing his hand along Shane’s knuckles. “Please don’t blame yourself for that. I did not want you to know moye solnyshko.” he begged.
Something flickered in Shane’s eyes before he finally raised his gaze to meet Ilya’s. He blinked in confusion, hoping that the tears he was holding back didn’t spill over.
“What does that mean?” he asked softly, curious.
Ilya cupped his face with his hand, and dragged his thumb along Shane’s cheek. “Sunshine,” he answered softly, “You have always been my sunshine.”
The corners of Shane's mouth twitched, fighting a soft smile and Ilya brought their lips together for a soft kiss. He pulled back looking at him seriously, hoping that Shane would believe him.
“I do not resent you for it, I barely thought of it after solnyshko, so please don’t hurt yourself over something so small” he said, hoping that Shane would hear him.
Shane couldn’t help but move for another sweet kiss. Ilya’s hand slid from his cheek to the back of his head, playing with the baby hairs at the base of his neck. He moved closer, pushing into the kiss.
“I love you, Ilya, I want you here with me always. I want our future together. I never want you to doubt how much I love you.” He sighs against the soft kiss. He would never forgive himself if Ilya ever considered taking his own life because of what Shane said.
“I love you too,” Ilya smiled softly, pulling back to kiss the tip of his nose.
A moment of silence passed between them as they pulled away before Ilya flopped back on the bed, covering his face with his arm.
“Hollander,” he looked at him, gaze dark from the shadow over his eyes. The dark gaze made him seem so serious, Shane’s heart skipped a beat with worry.
“Yes?”
A beat of nervewracking silence.
“We are going to get you some sleep medication, you keep interrupting perfectly good sleep.”
Shane’s face split into a smile and he hit Ilya’s naked chest, causing a comedic slap to sound in the otherwise quiet room.
“Shut up you asshole! This was important!” he argued
“So is your sleep Sheynechka!”
“I am serious Ilya,” Shane said, shaking his head, exasperated. He moved and rested his forehead against Ilya’s. “Stay in this life for me… for us. For our future together,” he asked softly
Ilya hummed and nodded his head, giving Shane one last kiss.
“Mmm,” he hummed. “Only if I get to go to store tomorrow and get you… what is it called?” he said, searching for the English word “Ah, melatonin. Marleau says it is good for sleep.”
“You’re such an asshole.”
“But I’m your asshole,” Ilya smiles.
Shane grumbles something unintelligible before reaching over Ilya and turning off the lamp.
“Go back to sleep now, you big baby.”
“Come here moye solnyshko,” Ilya said softly as Shane moved to get comfortable, once again laying his head on Ilya’s chest.
He listened to Ilya’s heartbeat, the soft sound bringing him comfort before slowly, finally, drawing him into sleep.